


Feathers and Notes

by hopelessly_me



Series: Spoopy season 2020 [7]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Angst, Bucky Is a Good Bro, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Clint, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Blood, cabin in the woods, homemade chili, mentions of wounds, references to being drugged, surprise letter, worried steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27280618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelessly_me/pseuds/hopelessly_me
Summary: Steve Rogers was enjoying his vacation alone when his boyfriend shows up to the cabin, wearing a bloody sweater and clutching black feathers in his hands. While taking care of Clint, Steve finds a note he was not expecting.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Steve Rogers
Series: Spoopy season 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1959886
Comments: 22
Kudos: 53





	Feathers and Notes

It was a chilly, rainy October night, the perfect weather to stay inside by a roaring fire and make a big pot of soup. Which was exactly what Steve Rogers did. He had brought enough firewood inside the cabin he was staying at to last a few days, he had made the chili a few hours earlier, letting it simmer to maximize the flavor, and he was reading a book that Bruce had recommended for him. The popping and crackling of the wood was a soothing noise, threatening to lull Steve to sleep.

This was his idea of a vacation- out in the middle of the wilderness, no one around for a few miles, left on his own to survive. He couldn’t cook much, he never was much good at it, but he knew how to make a few dishes, most of them soups. The first two days were troubling to Steve, having so much free time and nothing around to slow his racing head. He was used to the constant noise, the constant planning that being an Avenger had brought to him. But today marked day three and Steve could finally feel himself settle into the quiet life a little easier. He had an emergency phone, just in case he needed backup, but aside from that he was supposed to leave it off until day eight, when he was supposed to call for pickup.

Now that the initial wariness wore off, Steve was making plans other than chopping woods. He has given a compass and a map, and he fully planned to use it so he could explore his surroundings. He heard there was a cave not too far away, which might be worth checking into. And if not, there was a lake not too far past that, which Steve could maybe fish in. He couldn’t remember the last time he went fishing. This was one of those moments where Steve wished he had time for a dog, something he could train, take out with him as he explored. 

Maybe Clint was right- maybe he should get a dog. Clint had one, and so far he didn’t seem to have problems taking care of it. When Clint was gone, he called a service to come and look after Lucky, or Kate would, or even Natasha if Clint begged. On the rare occasion, and not without a hint of an apology, Clint would ask Steve to dog sit. No amount of reassurance had yet taught Clint that Steve absolutely didn’t mind watching Lucky, or that he even preferred it. Lucky was a good boy for the most part- he loved people, didn’t mind other animals whatsoever, and liked to snuggle and be snuggled. Really- he was Clint in dog form.

Steve couldn’t help the small smile pulling at his lips as he thought about Clint. It wasn’t a secret that Steve had a soft spot for the guy from the beginning, and now- two years later and five months into dating- Steve was pretty sure the first few days at this cabin would have been easier with Clint there. It was weird that Steve actually missed hearing Clint’s grunts and groans in the morning, poking and prodding Steve until he caved, grabbing Clint coffee. It would be annoying if it wasn’t for the payback- whenever Clint breezed past the locker room, the common space, their flat, Steve would ask him for one of Clint’s “special” protein bars; Clint would hand one over with a whine, a grin, and a kiss to Steve’s cheek, forehead, nose, lips. Steve was pretty sure Clint had a designated snack pocket in his gear, not that Clint would likely admit to it.

Unfortunately, Clint and Steve’s vacations hadn’t matched up, and no amount of whining and begging in Fury’s office was going to fix that since they had a mission for Clint. It was amusing to no end, watching Clint pout at Fury, throw him little glares during debriefs for the last two weeks, making comments how he was working for the personification of a grouchy demon that tricked him into signing his life away. The sheer exhaustion on Fury’s face made Steve quietly smile although he would never admit to it because then Clint would have an absolute field day in torturing Fury.

A knock on the door pulled Steve’s attention back to the here and now. He turned to look back before there was another knock and a thud. Steve set the spoon he was using to stir the chili down and walked to the door, his eyes skirting over to his shield, making sure it was close enough to grab, just in case. He unlocked the two bolts and went to open the door before it tried to swing open too fast, a figure leaning heavily against it.

“Hey, can you maybe stand-” Steve started to suggest until he caught the familiar sight of purple and to him, that could only mean one person. “Clint?” he asked, opening the door slowly.

Clint looked to be barely holding himself up. His hair was dripping wet, he looked soaked to the bone. His sweater and pants were torn, blood saturing through the purple fabric. And in his bloody hands were black feathers. He looked completely wrecked, distraught and like he could pass out with eyes slightly hazed over.

“Clint? Hey,” Steve said. “Clint? Sweetheart?”

Clint seemed to gain a little of his focus back as a full body shivered coursed through him and his eyes watered instantly, breaking Steve’s heart. Clint took an unsteady step forward before he swayed off to the side. This time Steve did reach out, grabbed a hold of his shoulders to keep him steady.

“I had wings. I had wings,” Clint’s hoarse voice said, each time becoming more frantic. “Oh God, it hurts,” he cried out, his body starting to shake.

“Come on, come in,” Steve said, pulling on him until Clint cried out in pain. “Clint! I don’t know where- where can I-?” Steve frantically tried to get out, his heart beating rapidly. 

Finally, Steve gave up on words, instinct kicking in. He scooped Clint up and forced himself to move despite Clint’s scream. Something was wrong- very wrong, and everything in Steve told him that he needed to get Clint inside where it was safer. Steve deposited Clint near the fire before he closed and locked the door, checking every other window in his cabin before he turned the lights off. The only thing Steve couldn't bring himself to putting out was the fire- he was pretty sure both of them needed the warmth at the moment.

The trembling hadn’t stopped by the time Steve made it back to Clint. He looked haunted, his hands still clutching around those feathers, that hazy look back in his eyes. Steve knew better than to reach out and touch Clint at the moment- it would end in one, or both, of them getting hurt, and Steve already didn’t know how much pain Clint was in.

“Sweetheart?” Steve asked softly, sitting down in front of him. Clint pulled his eyes up, searching Steve’s for a moment before he nodded. “What happened?”

Clint looked back down at the feathers. “I had wings,” he whispered.

“Yes, you said that,” Steve said. “But Clint- where were you?” he asked. “What happened?”

Clint got an odd expression on his face, his head tipping to the side. “I don’t- remember.”

Steve’s mind wandered back to work, back to all the files, doing a mental check. Clint’s mission was located in Canada, and it was supposed to be a quick in and out job. It wasn’t anything Clint would have stressed over, certainly nothing that would have left his boyfriend like this.

“Alright. I need to call-”

“No.” It was somewhere between a demand and a plea. Clint looked up, eyes wide- terrified. When was the last time Steve had seen Clint terrified? “No. They will be listening. They will find us.”

“Who are they?” Steve asked.

“They. The people,” Clint said vaguely, closing his eyes. “I can’t remember. I can’t-” His hands came up to either side of his head, never letting go of the feathers. “Had to get here. Get to Steve-” His body was tensing up until something jolted through him and he whimpered. “No phone. Can’t risk-”

“Okay, hey, shhh,” Steve said gently, reaching out to touch Clint’s foot first. When Clint didn’t react Steve moved until he was sitting next to Clint, close enough a hand could stay on Clint’s knee. “Can’t I call Natasha?” Steve implored. “Only Nat. She can promise to be the only one to come out. She already knows where I am.” Clint looked downright uncomfortable with the idea.

“No. No one else. No one else can know.” Clint had said it with such a serious face, like he resigned himself to some fact that he wasn’t letting on. And then the tears started to form, spilling down his cheeks. Steve ached to wrap his arms around Clint, or figure out who they were so he could somehow, in some way, fix this. He doubted Clint in his current mindset would tolerate the touch so Steve resisted.

“Okay, so no phone,” Steve relented. There was time to call after he could get Clint calmed down, maybe even asleep. “Okay. Clint? I need the sweater to come off. You’re covered in blood and soaking wet.” Clint didn’t move at first, a tired, wary look in his eyes. “Come on sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”

Any fight Clint had left in him seemed to diminish, his body sagging. “Okay.”

“Can you let go of the feathers for me?” Steve asked. “Start with something small so I can see your hands.” Clint hesitated, staring down at the feathers. With great reluctance he loosened his grip and the first few feathers floated down. Clint’s eyes widened in horror and he lashed out to try to snatch them back up, but Steve grabbed his wrists. “Hey, it’s okay.  _ It’s okay _ . You are doing great,” he said soothingly. Clint took a shaky breath in. “I’m going to pick the rest of them off, okay?”

Clint’s lips trembled and he shifted his body in an awkward way. “Okay,” he whispered. He laid his palms down on his knee and Steve reached out carefully to start peeling off the remaining feathers, looking at Clint’s hands as he went. He couldn’t find a scratch or a gash, his skin felt smooth and his eyebrows knitted. “You don’t believe me,” Clint whispered. Steve pulled his eyes up from his task to look at Clint, who looked defeated.

“Oh Clint, no sweetheart,” Steve said gently. “No. It’s not that. I just- it was a lot at once, and I don’t know what happened. All I do know is that you are hurt, and I need to do whatever I can to fix it.” Steve lifted his hands and gently touched Clint’s face, cradling it when Clint leaned into the touch. “You are doing so good, Clint. You are always so good for me.” 

It left a sick feeling in Steve’s stomach, using any kind of praise techniques during this type of situation, but it had worked, Clint relaxing more. It didn’t matter that he had seen Natasha use this method dozens of times, it still felt wrong. Steve used his thumbs to rub Clint’s cheeks before he lowered his hands to Clint’s neck, his thumbs rubbing at Clint’s jaw and watched as Clint’s eyes fluttered shut.

“I am going to get the first aid kit, okay?” Steve kissed Clint’s forehead and got up, not leaving him much of a choice. He glanced behind him once to check to make sure Clint wasn’t on the move but Clint had only moved to look at the fire, sitting sideways to it. And by the time he got back, Clint was facing the couch, his arms on the seat cushions to hold his head.

“Clint?”

“I’m just tired,” Clint murmured, moving his head to look at Steve. “I don’t feel right.”

“I know, hun. Pretty sure someone hit you with the good stuff,” Steve commented, walking over. “Okay, hands first. Let’s get them nice and clean.” Clint nodded but didn’t make a move, so Steve worked around his exhausted boyfriend. “How did you get here?”

“Car, then walked,” Clint answered.

“.... you stole a car?” Steve asked.

“No, he did,” Clint answered.

Every fiber in Steve’s being wanted to tense up.  _ He did _ . The feeling of being watched suddenly crept under Steve’s skin. “Who is he?” Steve asked.

“Dunno,” Clint said, eyes closing. “He left a note.”

“Where did he leave a note?”

“My back.”

Steve wanted to be angry- this was important information to know and Clint was just now telling him. But Steve kept it down and inside. Clint wasn’t one to leave out details ever- he noticed things a lot of people would miss; whatever drug he was given was certainly affecting him.

“On your back,” Steve repeated, voice tight.

“I’m sorry,” Clint said with a slur. “Fuck, I’m tired.”

“Not too much longer,” Steve promised. “Can you hold out for me just a little bit longer?” Clint nodded in agreement, burying his face in his arms again, taking his hands away from Steve. It didn’t matter- Steve had cleaned them enough. There weren’t any cuts, but there was an alarming amount of blood that had dried under his fingernails.

Clint was fading faster now, rambling on about secrets he knew the others kept. It was slightly alarming how open Clint was about the little things he had noticed- Tony’s secret stash of cereal, and the fact that he slept with a gun under his bed (which, really, finally), but also hid two guns in each of his labs and his flat, strategic spots, spots Clint found and now was telling Steve. He mentioned something about an isotope Bruce was working on, though Steve wasn’t sure if Clint really knew any of the words or was making them up. Sam, Kate, Peter, Steve himself- Clint told about oddities he noticed, little patterns that to most people would be no big deal but in the right hands-

Steve let Clint talk, his hands gently working under Clint’s sweater. He saw bruises at various stages, some old, some new, and blood stains. There were marks that Steve couldn’t identify, little raising of skin. His fingers stopped when he hit fabric on Clint’s upper back and along his shoulders. Carefully, Steve lifted the shirt and saw the wrap around Clint, splotches of blood soaking through. And there, tucked between two pieces of fabric, was a note. Steve desperately wanted to open the letter up right there and read it- he really did. But heard a soft noise come out of Clint, the beginnings of him falling asleep, and he still had a job to do.

“Clint,” Steve said, nudging him gently.

“I love and hate you,” Clint whined and moaned.

“Almost done, baby, I promise,” Steve said soothingly. “I need you to turn so I can get the sweater off. And then we are ditching the pants and we are going to bed.”

Clint turned slowly, his muscles straining as he went. Steve guided him as much as he thought Clint would tolerate. “Alright, I am going to do all the heavy lifting here,” Steve said. “Might hurt a little.”

“Story of my life, babe,” Clint replied through a yawn. “You look even prettier when there are two of you,” he added with a hint of a smirk.

At least that made Steve laugh. “Wow, Clint.”

“You are the handsy one,” Clint said, that smirk growing.

“Am I, now?” Steve asked, keeping it up just for Clint as he got his head free and worked at the arms. His fingers ghosted over bruises and what looked to be injection sites. “Oh-” Clint’s smile dropped and he looked down at the floor, shame starting to replace what was once there. “Clint, it wasn’t your fault. Don’t-” Steve felt the words sticking.

“Just… hug me or something,” Clint said softly.

It wasn’t a suggestion Steve was going to turn down. He held onto Clint carefully, tucking Clint under his chin, enveloping him as best Steve could. He placed a kiss onto the top of Clint’s head and held him for as long as Clint would tolerate it. One hand rubbed Clint’s lower back while his other held onto Clint’s neck, applying just the right amount of pressure he knew Clint liked, something that tended to keep him grounded a little more. Clint was quiet, turning his face into Steve a little more as he made himself comfortable.

“I’m tired,” Clint whispered.

“Okay.” Steve wasn’t ready to let go, but he did. He got up and helped Clint to his feet, stopped him from swaying and tumbling over. He helped with Clint’s button on his pants, helped him ease the pants off before helping him down to the bedroom. Clint swatted Steve’s hand when Steve had briefly thought about picking him up.

It didn’t take long to get Clint into a comfortable position on the bed. He was laying on his stomach, and despite it taking a few times to get his arms under his head without reacting in pain, Clint had managed it. Now his head was turned off to the side, his eyes shut and Steve wasn’t sure he was awake anymore. What Steve did know was that the hearing aids he had in weren’t his, and his ears looked to be irritated but Steve didn’t know if it was from extended use or improper fit- he was still learning everything about that. 

All Steve knew was that he was rubbing Clint’s back and waiting until he knew that Clint was definitely asleep, the first soft snore escaping. He pulled the note off from it’s spot and turned it over in his hands before he opened it, his heart stopping for a moment as his world narrowed to the familiar scrawl, even if it looked to be a little harsher than it once was all those years ago.

_ Hey Punk, _

_ I found someone I think is yours. I figured I would swing by and drop him off- he needed a break because I am pretty sure they were close to breaking him. Hydra- what a bunch of Nazi assholes, am I right? _

_ For the record, I have no idea where the feathers came from. I found him chained up in a room clutching those things and he bit me- actually bit me- when I tried to take them away. My guess is they were running some kind of experiment. You should have seen him, Stevie- drugged to the heavens and yet he was still a spittin’ cat. At first I thought the dumbass was you, but he’s a bit leaner, ain’t he? I think I like this one, he is feisty. Leave it to you to fall in love with a fellow punk. _

_ Anyway, I bandaged him up. There’s no signs of feathers on his back, but he looked like he, or someone, was leaving gouges. Kept saying it hurt like hell, which I believe. And then he kept saying he needed to get to you, but he wasn’t allowed to say where you were. It was a nightmare. He is a goddamn nightmare, Stevie. You should definitely keep this one. _

_ I’m sorry that we haven’t had a chance to talk. I know you are probably sitting there, happy to have your boyfriend back while being upset because, well- I’m here to screw things up. Maybe that’s why I haven’t found a way to talk to you yet- I’m worried that you will screw things up to try to be with me when you deserve better. I’m not him, Stevie- I’m not the guy you knew and loved. I keep telling myself that maybe someday I can be, but then I realized that they probably fucked me up too much to be him again. _

_ One day I will find a way to tell you all of this to your stupid face. Until then, just know that I’ll be looking out for you. And I’ll probably look out for him too when I can. Two goddamn disasters dating- this is peak Rogers, ain’t it? _

_ Until next time Punk, _

_ JBB _

Steve wiped the tears off his face and looked down at Clint with a smile, a hand brushing over Clint’s lower back. Bucky was alive- he was alive, he was okay, and most importantly he wasn’t with them. But there was one thing in that letter he was wrong about- there was no way in this universe that Steve was ever going to give up on Clint, not while Clint would still have him.

Steve climbed out of bed as carefully as he could, making Clint was still asleep before he padded down to the kitchen, tucking into a hot, and slightly overcooked, bowl of chili. He packaged away the leftovers except for one container. He debated it for a moment- there was no way Bucky was still around, not after this long, but he had to try. So Steve took the bowl outside with a spoon and sat it on the porch.

“Hey Buck,” he said to no one and nothing. “Got your note. His name is Clint. Clint Barton. Thank you because you have…” Steve took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “You have no idea how much he means to me, especially after I lost you. He’s not a replacement, you can’t replace people, but he is, well, everything- and I can’t afford to lose him.” Steve toed the chili out just a little more, avoiding the rain coming down the best he could. “Anyway- I doubt you are still here but if you are, I made Ma’s homemade chili. It’s a little burnt- got sidetracked with my boyfriend, but it’s still pretty good. Can’t make it like her though. You should… you should have some. And if you need anything, even if just to talk… I’m here. And if you can’t talk to me, you can talk to him- Clint. I think you’d like him, and I know he’d like you.” Steve wiped his face off again. “Anyway. Good night, Buck. I still love you.”

Movement off to his right caught his eye, here and gone too fast, but Steve didn’t react. He smiled and hung his head for a moment before he turned around to go inside. It was a hint of silver reflecting in what little light there was. Maybe it was his eyes playing tricks on him, wanting to believe he was there when Bucky wasn’t, but it wasn’t worth scaring him away if he was still there.

Steve closed and locked the door, checked on the fire to make sure it had enough wood for the night, and climbed back into bed with Clint. He had moved, just his head to face the other way. Steve pressed a kiss to the back of his neck as he laid down.

“Tomorrow, remind me to tell you about Bucky,” Steve whispered, watching Clint for just a moment longer before he closed his eyes.


End file.
